


Art / Words: The Sting in the Tale

by LFB72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Art, Episode: s03e01 The Tears of Uther Pendragon (Part I), Episode: s03e02 The Tears of Uther Pendragon (Part II), Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin Cannon Fest 2017, Scar reveal, Scars, Suitable for remix, Traditional Media, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-04 19:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12175551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72
Summary: Arthur makes a startling discovery about Merlin that stirs up some old memories and could completely change things between them.Arthur stares in horror, unable to look away. At the base of the man’s spine is a large puncture wound, partially healed and scabbed over but still fresh. The mark’s centre is a black star; from each point radiate tendrils, raised and purple but feathering outwards like fine vines until they disappear around his sides and are hidden by his breeches.Art / Words for Season 3 Episode 1-2 The Tears of Arthur PendragonChapter 1: Art and WordsChapter 2: Art only





	Art / Words: The Sting in the Tale

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Many thanks to the mods for organising this fest — it’s a great idea and fun to do. I knew which episode I wanted from the onset and thought about it a lot. Due to ACBB it was a bit tight to get it all done, but I managed. I always wanted to do these specific illustrations; they were very clear in my head, although the execution proved much more difficult to do. I’ve added some words (slightly more than intended). I’ve not really written in a while and enjoyed it; let’s hope the experience is mutual. As well as embedding the art, I have posted it in a separate chapter. I’m indebted to my lovely betas: Merlinsdeheune (sindhunathi) and Pelydryn, without whom none of this would be possible.
> 
> Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

[ ](https://imgur.com/ijzYmMl)

 

He doesn’t notice the dirt or dead leaves in his mouth anymore, nor the damp from earth seeping through his thin shirt. Cut knees and magic chains that squeeze the breath from his body are irrelevant. The searing pain of the serket's sting obliterates all else.

 

Opening his eyes fails to restore his vision, but Merlin decides perfect sight is overrated; the advancing blurry, black, shapes can only be one thing, and they want their dinner. He should try and defend himself (not that it did much good last time), but he has no inclination or energy. He feels heavy, heady and slightly hysterical, no doubt due to the venom coursing through his veins with every beat of his heart.

 

The initial agony is subsiding now, giving way to a cold numbness spreading through his extremities and making it impossible to move — perhaps he should have told them such measures were redundant since Morgause's chains had already done the job.

 

So much for being the greatest sorcerer to walk the earth or the last dragon lord; he’s little more than a tasty morsel for invertebrates — huge, fierce, arachnids, but invertebrates all the same. It was too much to hope that Kilgharrah would answer his call; they did not part on good terms, and the dragon is a cantankerous, egoistic beast at the best of times.

 

Despite Gaius’ insistence that he extensively research magical creatures, exactly what serkets do to their prey is a mystery. Will the venom liquify his bones, so he can be sucked up like a tasty soup? Perhaps it will just continue to immobilise him whilst they rip his limbs off, or maybe they're not even hungry and he’ll be wrapped up and stored for later? Either way, there will be no body for Arthur to find; Merlin will die alone, and Arthur will never know the truth of what he’s done or who he really is. He always thought he’d have more time, and the failure hurts much more than the serket’s sting or his impending death.

 

Here lies the mighty Emrys, his attempt to protect Arthur and bring about Albion foiled by two witches — one of whom only came into her power a year ago. Arthur will perish without his protection, and he cannot let that happen.

[](https://imgur.com/EO8nVk3)  

 

Merlin forces himself to rally, to dig deep and find his magic. One golden strand is all he needs to coax into life and do his bidding, yet before Merlin even begins to harness his power, the world shakes and his ears are filled with a deafening roar. His last thought is that the hallucinogenic properties of the poison are really kicking in; he’s flying, and even behind closed lids, the sky is lit bright orange until it fades to black.

  


Merlin’s back throbs and his head spins. Kilgharrah’s magic may have healed him, but he’d been warned that he needed time to recover. That had not been an option. _How could he hole up in the dragon’s cave whilst Morgause and Morgana wrought havoc on Camelot with a skeleton army?_ It does not matter now — he stopped them. The Rowan staff lies in pieces, its crystal black and broken, much like the rest of the crypt. Beneath the dust and rubble, Morgana’s life force is strong. With luck she won’t remember what has happened, but luck has seldom been on his side.

 

Merlin will have to be careful. Morgana is clever and determined; she will take as much pleasure in causing his downfall as that of Camelot. Ironically, sacrificing Morgana to save Arthur has effectively sealed his fate. She is a High Priestess now; she won’t stop until she has destroyed everything she once held dear — he is responsible for that. He seems destined to prevent one disaster only to create another.

 

Merlin forces himself to get up and hobble out of the crypt. It will be overrun with knights soon, and he can’t be discovered. In all the chaos, no one will notice, even though maybe just once he wishes they would.

 

Over the last year Arthur had feared for his father; Morgana's disappearance had hit the king hard, but that does not matter now. Finally, after months of searching, the Lady Morgana has been found. Never one to blend into the background, she single-handedly manages to save Camelot within a week of returning. His father’s faculties are restored and he, like the rest of the kingdom, are recovering from yet another failed magical attack.The restoration work on the crypt is almost complete, and things feel almost normal, save for the absence of a certain black-haired servant with abysmal time-keeping. Arthur will soon find Merlin, and put the world to rights.

 

His feet slap against the cobbles as he runs down the corridor. When Arthur approaches the physician's chambers, he slows his pace. It wouldn’t do to look too keen. Breathing finally under control, he wrenches the heavy oak door open, intending to slam it against the wall with maximum impact, thereby alerting his lazy servant to his presence.

 

The room is empty. Deflated, Arthur lets the door quietly close and is about to go out when he notices the door to Merlin’s room is ajar. He bounds up the stairs, but something makes him pause. Instead of entering in a grandiose way typical of a royal, Arthur hovers outside the opening like a naughty schoolchild, instinct making his skin prickle and palms sweat.

  


There is a young man standing in Merlin’s room.

 

He’s tall and muscular but in an understated way. His body is sculpted from hard work; all long lines, lean tissue and sinew. The man is washing, a wet cloth obscuring his face but not his torso; it bears scars, many marks including a burn on his chest and something on his shoulder.

 

Swallowing hard, Arthur begins the process of silently backing out the doorway when the man turns. Arthur’s breath catches, and he finds himself grabbing the doorframe for support.

 

Such a grotesque sight is strangely mesmerising. Arthur stares in horror, unable to look away. At the base of the man’s spine is a large puncture wound, partially healed and scabbed over but still fresh. The mark’s centre is a black star; from each point radiate tendrils, raised and purple but feathering outwards like fine vines until they disappear around his sides and are hidden by his breeches.

Arthur has never seen a scar like that on living flesh, but he knows what it is; how could he ever forget? It’s a serket scar. People don’t walk away from serket stings, not ones as severe as that — it’s not possible, or at least that’s what he always thought.

  


The first time Arthur saw the devastation a serket could cause, he was no more than twelve summers:

 

_“I thought he would be proud, Gaius.”_

 

_“He is.” The old man hands Arthur a cup of water, waiting for the prince to drink before continuing. Arthur grabs the vessel with trembling fingers, gulping down its contents and choking in his haste. “Steady my boy, or you’ll vomit again.”_

 

_Arthur stills, hit with a wave of shame. He’s suddenly relieved the king left immediately after marching him down to the physician's chambers and that his father did not witness his only son and heir to the throne throw up at the sight of some dead bodies. Arthur flings the empty cup on the floor and starts to get up but is halted by a warm hand on his shoulder._

 

_Gaius sits down but does not relinquish his hold. “He is proud, Arthur, he just gets angry because he cares — ”_

 

_Arthur shrugs out of Gaius’ grasp. “Doesn’t feel like he cares.”_

 

_“Arthur, the king lost three of his best knights to those creatures, and then he discovers his son has disappeared to the Darkling woods alone on some ill-conceived quest to prove himself.”_

 

_“I did not need any help, I’m the best — ”_

 

_“Enough, young man. Your father searched high and low for you. He’s already lost a wife and is terrified of losing his only son. He will do whatever it takes to protect and keep you safe. These are magical creatures, Arthur! You can’t underestimate them; your father wants you to witness first hand what they can do, how dangerous they are, no matter how unpleasant.”_

_Gaius motions to the three corpses covered in sheets and laid out on the floor. “Those men were fearless and highly trained knights, but they were no match for the serkets.”_

 

_Arthur tries and fails to push the image of those dead men from his head, but it’s impossible — their contorted faces, black limbs and swollen flesh are forever seared onto his mind._

 

_“Was there nothing you could do?” He croaks. “I thought you were supposed to heal people.”_

 

_“Serket venom is highly toxic; a central strike like that would be fatal to all mortal men. If it were a glancing blow to the periphery and treated straight away, maybe they could have survived, but these men were far from Camelot. I’m afraid nothing could be done to save them.”_

 

_The old man pulls Arthur close, rubbing his shoulder. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up and returned to your father.”_

 

_Arthur sniffs, rubbing his eyes and wiping his nose on his sleeve, only to receive a gentle cuff and a stern eyebrow from the physician._

 

_Arthur bites his lip, finding it hard to look Gaius in the eye. “You won’t tell him, will you?”_

 

_Gaius lets out a sigh.“You are certainly not the first and you won’t be the last to react that way. As a knight and royal, you will face death many times young man; I’m afraid no one can fully protect you from that… but no, I won’t tell him. Your secret is safe with me.”_

  
  


Arthur is shaken from his reverie by the sound of splashing water. The man suddenly hisses and grabs the edge of the table. His knuckles bleach and sweat beads across his shoulders as he tenses in response to a spasm. He’s impossibly still for a moment and then sags, letting out harsh breaths before straightening up.

 

Something about the movement is familiar. Arthur gasps when he finally recognises the figure: Merlin.

 

_How is this possible?_ Merlin is skin and bone, fragile and weak, young and innocent. When did he grow up and become marred and battle worn? This is wrong, this cannot be... and yet is.

 

Arthur can’t process what he’s just seen or what it all means. He can’t breathe, he has get out, he has to get as far away as possible. Arthur stumbles down the stairs, bolting toward the exit, but he catches a stool with his foot and knocks several vials on the floor. There’s a loud crash as the glass shatters, and Arthur can’t help but yell in response.

 

He freezes, cursing his own stupidity.

 

Nothing happens.

 

_Perhaps Merlin did not hear?_ Arthur relaxes, continuing forward.

 

“Hello?”

 

_Damn it!_ Arthur stops.

 

“Gaius?”

 

The silence lingers too long.

 

“Merlin!” Arthur booms as he makes his way back to his servant’s quarters. “I’ve not seen you in days; I thought you might be dying.”

 

Arthur cringes as the words fall from his lips — _what the hell was he thinking?_ Then the conversation he’d had with Merlin the last time his servant went missing replays in his head:

 

_“Where have you been?”_

 

_“What would you say if I told you I was dying?”_

 

He’d scoffed at that response, had been riled at the absurdity of it. Now he feels nauseous at the thought of Merlin writhing in agony and realises he could have been telling the truth.

 

Arthur pushes open the door, fully expecting to face the bare chest of his servant, but somehow Merlin has managed to fully dress.

 

Droplets of water fall from his hair, and his tunic sticks to his chest where the skin has not had time to dry. Merlin stands straight and even manages to smile, effectively hiding the injury he carries. _What else is hidden behind the sunny persona?_

 

Even though Merlin is fully clothed, all Arthur can see is the naked flesh that was exposed only moments before. The contours and planes of Merlin’s body, the broad shoulders and lithe limbs he’d not noticed before.

 

“Sire?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I didn’t think you needed me until tomorrow.”

 

Arthur does not respond.

 

“Are you alright?” Merlin places a hand on his shoulder.

 

“What?”

 

“I thought I wasn’t needed until tomorrow.”

 

“I was concerned.”

 

“Really?” Merlin’s mouth twitches at the corners.

 

Suddenly Arthur realises he doesn’t know what to say or how to deal with what he’s seen. He swallows, glancing at the floor and picking at his fingernails before staring directly at Merlin.

 

“About my laundry.”

 

“Oh.” Merlin visibly wilts, leaning against the wall.

 

Arthur picks up a drying rag and tosses it in the direction of his servant. He watches Merlin flinch as the fabric hits; he observes the guarded movements as Merlin peels himself off the support and wipes his face — _how could he not see Merlin was wounded? How could Merlin not tell him?_

 

“You look tired, Merlin, and you're limping!”

 

This would be the perfect opportunity for Merlin to tell him how he acquired those scars, but of course that doesn’t happen.

 

Merlin’s eyes merely widen slightly, his words rushing out in a jumble.

 

“I’ve been helping clear the crypt, all the servants have.”

 

When the prince does not answer, Merlin continues fumbling.

 

“After… you know, the skeletons… we’ve been trying to piece the bones back and repair the tombs. They’re French marble, it’s very heavy and, er, dusty. That’s where I’ve been, that’s why…” Merlin gestures to the wash bowl and wipes his hands down his trousers. “Anyway, it’s all done and functional again. Some of the crypts are empty now, of course, because of …” Merlin trails off waggling his fingers in the air.

 

With an injury like that, Merlin shouldn’t be able to stand, let alone lug pieces of masonry around. As a Crown Prince, he shouldn't have to ask. He could demand to know what really happened, but Merlin’s evasiveness annoys him — the way he constantly dodges questions. Arthur had been oblivious before, but not anymore. Now that he thinks about it, Merlin is very skilled at misdirection and half-truths.

 

Arthur is only shaken from his thoughts when Merlin quietly speaks. “If it helps, the spell only affected the knights. Your — Queen Ygraine’s vault was not touched.”

 

Arthur shakes his head. With all that has been going on, he’s not even thought of his mother’s memorial or of how it might have been damaged — it did not even occur to him. It occurred to Merlin though — how such a crime could affect her son. A pang of guilt hits his chest until it’s replaced with a flare of anger. _How dare magic be used in such a way: to desecrate the graves of those at rest — such a callous act is abhorrent. At least when knights fight, they do so with integrity and honour._

 

“I don’t want to be buried,” he blurts out.

 

“What!”

 

“When I die, I don’t want to be buried. I refuse to be subjected to the whim of a sorcerer, for them to have the opportunity to manipulate my body and use it to cause evil and destruction.”

 

Merlin just stares, blinking several times. “I won’t let that happen.”

 

Arthur snorts and begins to pace. “I don’t think you’ll have much choice in the matter.”

 

Merlin’s reply is defiant. “Well, I’ll do all I can. I won’t let you die.”

 

“You are not the master of life and death, Merlin; besides, it’s not your role to protect me.”

 

Merlin’s cheeks explode into colour, contrasting with the chalk white of before. He bunches his fists and launches into a tirade, banging his chest with his hand. “It _is_ my role, Arthur. Your father may have made me your servant, but _I_ choose to serve. I will always be with you, regardless of what and however many battles or creatures you face. You can’t get rid of me that easily no matter how obnoxious you are.

 

“Obnoxious?”

 

“And arrogant.”

 

“Arrogant, too?”

 

“Sometimes.” Merlin stares out the window, his shoulders heaving up and down, his breathing quite audible in the quiet room.

 

“Well!” Arthur claps his hands. “I’m not intending to go just yet.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it, Sire.” Merlin forces a smile as he rubs his eye.

 

Neither speak for a while.

 

“You know, if Morgana had not destroyed that staff, we would have all perished.”

 

“The skeleton army were vanquished, Arthur, just like every other threat there has been against Camelot! You were victorious, and we live to fight another day.”

 

He nods slowly. “You're right, Merlin.”

 

“I have been known to be, from time to time.”

 

Arthur raises and eyebrow and gives Merlin a wry smile before becoming contemplative again. “I kept thinking, there is so much I still have to do. Things I’ve not seen or achieved.”

 

“I have faith in you.”

 

Arthur gives a nervous laugh. “Still, we all have go sometime.”

 

“Not yet.”

 

“No, not yet.”

 

The room is still. _How did the conversation become so macabre?_ Too much information is swirling around his head. Too many questions. Merlin is an idiot who says wise things, he’s loyal but he lies, and he hides in the face of danger. Merlin has scars, so many marks and injuries that should not be there. The innocent don’t carry scars — not like that, not like the ones that adorn and dominate Merlin’s slender frame. Merlin is clearly not the person Arthur thought he was.The prince presses his hand to his temple.

 

“I’m the Crown Prince and you're my servant; and yet, you know all my secrets, all my fears and aspirations — I know next to nothing about you.”

 

“I was brought up by my mother in the middle of nowhere.”

 

“That’s not what meant.” Arthur snaps.

 

“Fine! What do you want to know?”

 

“Tell me a secret.”

 

Merlin hesitates. “I don’t think you’d like what I have to say.”

 

“Try me.”

 

“Secrets are secret for a reason, Arthur.”

 

“Friends are friends for a reason, Merlin.”

 

“We’re friends?”

 

“Of sorts.”

 

Merlin snorts, turning away. “Well, that’s alright then.”

 

“I won’t judge you.”

 

Merlin plays with a thread on his tunic and glances about the room as if searching for inspiration. Arthur has almost given up when the man speaks.

 

“I don’t want to burn.”

 

“What?” Arthur looks up.

 

Merlin stands with his shoulders back, his gaze locked on Arthur. “When I die, I don’t want to burn.”

 

The words are almost a whisper, but he might as well have shouted them.

 

Arthur swallows; his throat is too dry, and it makes him cough. “Well, let’s hope it never comes to that.”

 

He no longer wants to ask the questions because he doesn’t want to deal with the answers. Why is his servant covered in horrific scars? Why does he disappear with no notice only to reappear in the thick of things and survive against all odds? And why, despite the danger and constant threats to his life, has Arthur been happier and more fulfilled in the last three years than any other time?

 

Arthur can’t erase the image of Merlin's body from his mind or how he failed to notice or protect. What else has he missed? He’d never admit it out loud but it terrified him when he thought Merlin had gone. The man infuriates and intrigues in equal measure, but Arthur can’t contemplate a life without him.

 

“I won’t let that happen; I won’t let you burn.”

 

Merlin rubs the back of his neck and bites his lip. “You may not have a choice.”

 

“I’d find a way.”

 

They both jump when there’s a knock at the door.

 

“Sire?”

 

“I’ll be there in a moment, Leon. Go ahead, I’ll catch you up.”

 

Arthur motions his head towards exit. “I have a meeting with my father.”

 

Merlin nods, and Arthur pretends not to notice the beads of moisture gathered in the corner of his eyes.

 

Arthur slowly gets up and walks towards the door.

 

“Arthur?”

 

He pauses with his hand on the latch.

 

“You did well, during the siege. You will become a great king one day”

 

“So someone keeps telling me.”

 

“You should listen. Perhaps they’re right.”

 

“Perhaps they are.”

 

Merlin smiles, genuinely this time.

 

Arthur grins. He’s not done yet. “I’ve heard it said that great kings are only built on great breakfasts, and you have been rather remiss in your duties.”

 

“Well, you could afford to miss the odd one.”

 

“ _Merlin!”_ Arthur picks up something unidentifiable from Gaius’ workbench and waves it in a threatening manner.

 

“You do know that’s a petrified toad?”

 

Arthur drops the item like a hot coal. He wipes his hands on his tunic.

 

“You'll have to wash this, of course. I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow, Merlin.”

 

“I won’t let you down.”

 

“I know.”

 

Arthur smiles wistfully as he shuts the door. _I won’t let you down either._

  


It all makes sense now, not everything, but enough.

 

_“Gaius, if serkets are so dangerous, why do the druids live there?”_

 

_“Arthur, your father would not approve of this conversation.”_

 

_“I want to know.”_

 

_“The druids have magic.”_

 

_“Serkets can’t kill those with magic?”_

 

_“Only if they are very powerful.”_

 

The time is not right; Arthur will keep Merlin’s secret for now, but sooner or later he hopes Merlin will tell him the truth. When Merlin does share his secret, maybe Arthur can share his too. In the meantime, he will protect Merlin because someone has to. Someone has to prevent those scars and marks. It is his duty to look after his people, that is what a royal does, but he will protect and care for Merlin, because he’s the one he loves.

  


The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking a peek, I hope you like what you have seen.  
> To anyone that's interested, Merlin's scar is based very loosely on a 'lighting strike' scar. I always imaged in that way but researched scars and though it was interesting how it looked a bit tree like. I guess the mark on his chest from Nimueh should be a light strike scar but I'd always thought of that as a large burn.


End file.
